


So Much Fine Dust

by romanticalgirl



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The weight of the air is nothing compared to the weight of his gaze.  (A continuation of <a>Release</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	So Much Fine Dust

**Author's Note:**

> For my dear, sweet, wonderful [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/)**nolivingman** on the celebration of her birthday.
> 
> Originally posted 8-15-06

Archie has spent much of his time listening – to the guards, to the Don, to the men imprisoned with him. He listens and he hears, but the sounds are foreign, even with his grasp of Spanish. It’s all background noise, no one talking _to_ him, just around him and over him and through him.

At least until he opened his eyes and Horatio was standing over him. Since then, he has readjusted to voices, learned them again, though even the soft steadiness of Horatio’s seems loud and overwhelming. But he listens now, and hears. He remembers words and phrases. Relearns what he can say and what is allowed to be spoken.

He listens as Styles and Matthews tell him of their Mr. Hornblower. He listens to the tales and exploits and tries to reconcile them with the boy he knew and the man who shares his cell.

It is several weeks before he finds the courage to ask, to whisper the question that has plagued him. He asks it of Matthews, avoids sympathetic eyes and stares at the prison walls as the hated name passes his lips.

“Simpson?” Matthews’s voice is thick with disgust. “He’s dead, Sir. And none too soon, by my reckoning.”

“Dead?” He is unsure whether it is relief or disappointment that changes his voice, thickens it with emotion.

“Aye, Mr. Kennedy, Sir. After the…after _Papillion_ , Sir. He and Mr. Hornblower had a duel. Mr. Simpson challenged him, he did, Sir.”

“A duel.” Duels end, Archie knows, with someone dead. With Clayton dead. With Simpson dead. “And Mr. Hornblower…killed him?”

“Oh no, Sir. Captain Pellew, Sir.” Matthews glances over toward the gate Horatio had passed through for his daily walk. “Mr. Simpson, Sir. He fired early, see. And Mr. Hornblower, well, he told Simpson he wasn’t worth killin’ and then Mr. Simpson went to stab Mr. Hornblower, Sir, and the Captain shot him. A man of no honor.”

“A man of no honor.” Kennedy sits silently for a long moment until he realizes Matthews is watching him closely. “Mist…Simpson, Matthews. You said he fired first.”

“Aye, Sir.”

“He was an excellent shot.”

“Not so good, Sir. He only hit Mr. Hornblower…”

Archie nods and closes his eyes, sees it all so clear. “In the shoulder.” Kennedy opens his eyes to find a strange light in Matthews’s and, for a moment, Archie thinks it might be approval.

“Aye, Sir. In the shoulder.”

Archie knows many of Horatio’s secrets. It is a side effect of friendship and of hanging their cots together for so long, it is a condition of their imprisonment.

He hears the sounds Hornblower tries so hard to hide, senses the need, and now knows one more secret, and it is the one that, as much as he wishes, he cannot pretend not to know.

**

Archie waits, watching Horatio studiously, understanding now, perhaps, the things he did not see before. It’s the difference, he thinks, between drowning and breathing.

He’s sitting in their cell, staring at nothing, though he knows he no longer has that strange glaze of disinterest, of death in his gaze. It is near sundown, and Horatio’s walk will end soon, his parole rescinded for another day. It has been hot, the kind of hot that is not alleviated by breeze, as the wind rolls by with the weight of degrees, and everything clings to flesh like so much fine dust.

Horatio enters the room and glances quickly at Archie, offering him a smile that is different when it reaches Horatio’s eyes. It is there, there is no question of that, but it holds less friendly companionship than it does secret confessions from sated lips and fear that such midnight words have fallen on ears not so deaf as he hopes.

Both of them look away, breaking the gaze, though Archie’s stays on Hornblower as he tugs his shirt over his head, using the dusty white to wipe the heavy sweat from his brow. His body glistens with perspiration in the filtered, dying light that dances off the dirt and dust in the air.

Archie studies the straight line of Horatio’s back, the curve of his neck, the slope of his shoulders. He traces the curve of the bone and stretch of skin with his eyes, letting them fall to the tapered slimness of Horatio’s waist before he stands and takes the few steps to close the distance between them.

His hand ghosts over Horatio’s shoulder, tracing the line from his neck to his arm, fingers shaking as they stroke the cooling skin. He can see the shadow of lashes as Horatio’s eyes close, feel the trembling of muscles beneath the skin he strokes. “There are no secrets in prison cells, Horatio.” He does not recognize his voice, rough as though with disuse or desire. “And yet you are a man of secrets.”

“I…” Horatio opens his mouth and gets nothing more out than the softly spoken sound, his body contracting as Archie’s fingers change course, as Archie walks around to face him, his forefinger slowly circling the puckered skin that darkens Horatio’s shoulder. “Archie.”

“You’ve seen the scars Jack Simpson gave me, Horatio.” His voice shifts to a whisper, breath as light on the air as his fingers as he continues to brush the skin surrounding the scar. “Silver ribbons not of courage or honor but of fear and innocence. Flesh laid bare in his sense of vengeance.”

“Archie…”

“So unlike this.” His fingers sweep over the skin and Horatio’s eyes close, a low moan rent from between his lips. Archie drops his voice further, a lover’s caress. “You faced him with honor, Horatio. How I envy you that.”

“He did not do to me what he did to you, Archie.” Horatio’s voice emulates Archie’s, soft and secret. “And you, though you claim to lack bravery and courage, have never wanted to die.”

Archie licks his lips then leans in, his breath gusting against Horatio’s chest, against his neck. “He broke me, Horatio.”

“No, Archie.” Horatio turns his head and his dark eyes find Archie’s blue ones. There is something more than sunlight in the air, another blast of heat. “He rebuilt you.” Horatio licks his lips and swallows hard, his eyes dropping to Archie’s mouth. “Stronger.”

“Wrong, Horatio.” Archie looks again at the puckered skin, the edges burnt dark. “You did.”

Any further words are lost as Archie leans in, his tongue replacing his fingers on the warm flesh, tracing the scar. Horatio gasps, his body going stiff. His breathing sputters erratically as Archie replaces his tongue with his lips, feathering gentle kisses before sliding his tongue across the body of the scar.

“A-Archie.” Horatio reaches out, fingers grasping in Archie’s shirt, tangling in the dirty, worn linen. Archie lifts his eyes, his lips parted with need. He licks them, watching Horatio’s gaze follow the sweep of his tongue. Horatio’s own eyes are dark with desire, framed with fear.

“Near enough to the dead of night, Horatio,” Archie assures him, giving away a secret of his own. “Need I be asleep for you to want me?” Horatio’s head lifts, something different in his eyes as he meets Archie’s – disgust, self-censure. Without pause, Archie shakes his head and tastes the scar again. “There are no storm-tossed seas here, Mr. Hornblower. Nothing to fear.”

“No one on watch,” Horatio whispers, his voice breaking slightly as Archie’s mouth moves upward, teeth grazing the warm skin where Horatio’s neck joins his shoulder. “But Archie…”

“Horatio,” he returns, just as softly spoken. “I have seen you at night. Was that all a lie? The fire in your eyes, the need that brought my name to your lips?” He has watched nightly since Horatio has grown complacent enough, needing enough to trust the faint sleep that Archie feigns as Horatio indulges in his own desires, finishing every night with the soft, hushed pant of Archie’s name on the heavy air.

“Archie.” Horatio reaches up, his fingers grazing Archie’s lips. “I did nothing honorable in dueling with him. It was fear and anger and sorrow.” He shivered under the slow, gentle touch of Archie’s fingers as they stroke his skin. “Nothing for honor. It wasn’t honor. Revenge…”

Archie laughs softly, leaning in close, tasting the promise of Horatio’s mouth. “Revenge for my untimely demise?” A glint ofhumor curves Archie’s lips. “Risk death for me, Mr. Hornblower?”

Heat flushes Horatio’s skin. “Not so noble, Archie. Please…”

“Please, Horatio?” Archie moves closer, his lips parted, his tongue a hint of pink against his lips. “Please what?”

Horatio swallows hard and steps back, his eyes black with desire. “You’ve watched me.”

“Yes,” Archie admits quietly, his fingers stroking along the firm muscles of Horatio’s abdomen. “Watched you want me. You do want me, Horatio.” He leans in, breath warm against Horatio’s mouth, finally stealing a slow kiss. “Don’t you?”

Horatio answers him with a low groan, reaching out to grasp again at Archie’s shirt, shoving it out of the way to find skin warm from sun and desire. Heat floods through Archie as Horatio’s mouth opens against his, tongue alive and heavy, curving and curling to the contours of unexplored flesh, tasting of a hint of lime and the sea.

They break apart, both gasping for air, grasping at each other. Archie pulls back, his hands shaking as he skirts his fingers over Horatio’s side. Horatio’s eyes seek out Archie’s, a host of emotions in them. “What…?”

“Do you want me now? Want to touch me? Archie watches desire war with fear in the brown depths. “Or do you want me to watch you?” He pauses as Horatio catches his breath. “Do you want to _know_ I’m watching you?”

Horatio’s lips part on a breath. “You’ll watch me.”

“My eyes on you, Mr. Hornblower. Watching you as you touch, as you stroke.” He guides Horatio to the cot Archie normally sleeps on, brushing his fingers over the placket at the front of Horatio’s trousers. He unfastens the buttons, easing the fabric away until it barely clings to Horatio’s slim hips, the thin, worn fabric of Horatio’s small clothes doing little to disguise his arousal.

Archie moves away, settling on Horatio’s cot on the opposite side of the room. He watches hungrily as Horatio eases his trousers and small clothes down his legs, the dusty fabric slipping away from his skin to reveal the damp of perspiration and anticipation. “Archie…”

His body trembling from the whispered word, Archie stretches out on the bed, his eyes sweeping up Horatio’s body to his eyes, dark and wide and nervous and hot. “It’s all right, Horatio.” His voice is pitched low and private, though he knows they’re alone for the night, the guards perfectly content to drink wine at the end of the hall until they pass out, startled awake by the morning sun and their relief.

“I can’t, Archie.” Horatio’s voice shakes and his hand shakes where it rests on his thigh, the curved length of his cock hard and flushed in the slight shadow his position casts. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Archie assures him. After a moment, searching Horatio’s lost gaze, Archie sighs. “You can, Horatio. I’ll close my eyes. Just like before.” He lets his eyes drift not quite closed, the outline of Horatio’s body in dark relief against the fall of Archie’s lashes. “I’m asleep, Horatio.”

“Asleep.”

Archie can’t help his smile. “And you’re watching me.”

“Yes.” Horatio sighs softly and shifts on the bed, his hand sliding down off his thigh to the swell of his flesh, sliding along his length. “Watching you sleep.”

“Thinking about me, Horatio?”

“Yes.” Horatio nods, his eyes closing. Archie dares to open his own, watching in hungry fascination as Horatio’s hand moves in slow, steady rhythm, the long fingers curved along the flesh. He swallows hard and reaches down, unfastening his own trousers.

“What do you think, when you see me behind your eyes? When you touch yourself.”

“Think…” A rough flush darkens Horatio’s cheeks and the words seem stuck in his throat.

Archie slips his hand inside his smallclothes and wraps it around his own shaft, his thumb gliding over the slick head. “Am I touching you?”

“You’re…you’re back in the infirmary, only healthy.” Horatio licks his lips and swallows, the pace of his strokes increasing slightly. “Shirt off…sprawled on the…on the bed.”

“A real bed.”

His eyes open, and he meets Archie’s gaze and swallows again. “A real bed.”

Archie shifts slightly, freeing his erection completely from his smallclothes, watching Horatio’s eyes seek out the exposed flesh. “And then?”

“I touch you.” Horatio’s voice is thick and soft, hungry. “And you let me.”

“T-touch me where?” Archie’s breath hitches as Horatio’s eyes stay on the sweep of his cock, following the slow stroke of Archie’s hand. “Horatio?”

“Everywhere.” Horatio raises his eyes back to Archie’s and swallows, his lips curved in pleasure as his pace increases, his hand stroking hard and fast along his cock. “Everywhere you’ll let me.”

“Everywhere,” Archie agrees with a nod, his own hand falling into rhythm with Horatio’s. “Touch m…me everywhere.”

Horatio’s eyes threaten to close again, but he keeps them open enough to hold Archie’s gaze. Archie’s eyes dart from Horatio’s hand to his mouth to his eyes, his own lips parted breathlessly. Horatio’s breath catches, the sound loud in the silence, and his eyes fall closed, his body clenching hard. He comes, the thick liquid coating his long fingers.

Archie gasps aloud, his own climax coming shortly on the heels of Horatio’s, staining his own hand with the wet heat. He shudders in the aftermath and finds himself staring at Horatio again, dark eyes meeting his with a mixture of surprise and fear and wonder and shame. “W…” He stops, his voice not his own for a moment. Clearing his throat, he hold Horatio’s gaze. “We have no secrets from each other, Horatio. It doesn’t mean we have no secrets at all.”

“Please, Archie.” His voice is soft in the fallen night. “Do not give me any honors for what happened to Ja…to him. I did what any man would do.”

“If that were so, Horatio, then Jack would have died long before you ever set foot aboard _Justinian_. And it is not just Jack, Horatio.” Archie sits up and cleans himself as best he can in the dark. “Clayton finally stood up to Jack, and I respect him and owe him so much for that, but what we did…” He gets to his feet and moves to his own cot, settling on the edge of it beside Horatio, his fingers grazing over the blight of the scar. He smiles and shakes his head. “I must confess, Horatio, I never had a desire to do such things with Clayton.”

“Archie!”

Archie laughs, delighting in the scandalized look on Horatio’s face, enjoying the moment as the tension fades. He leans in, his voice a promising whisper as his fingers continued to brush against the dark scar. “Our secret, Horatio.”

“Yes,” he agrees softly, his voice equally full of promise. “Ours.”

Archie kisses him, hungry and warm and answered equally in every turn. “To share.”  



End file.
